


Too Much (Just Perfect)

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, Kink: Tongue-Fucking, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too much. Or not quite enough. (Post-series, alternate canon.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much (Just Perfect)

**Author's Note:**

> Kink and prompt for Halloween 2013’s mini-round at Rounds of kink: Tongue-fucking/Rimming & Serpentine.

Too much.

(A bit not enough, actually.)

She shouldn’t have agreed to that.

(Sure. Who is she kidding?)

Sara’s wrists are tied to the bedpost and Michael’s head is between her legs and she’s losing it. Hard, fast, noisily. Not pretty to see.

(Michael seems to have a different opinion on that since he keeps whispering “So beautiful,” with a reverence that is not devoid of lust right against the slick skin of her thighs.)

It’s not that Michael has never done that to her. The _his-head-between-her-legs_ and _mouth-latching-onto-her_ part. He has, on multiple occasions, very successfully, very profusely, very skillfully, very... very...

(He enjoys going down on her. She’s spread out on their bed, panting and sweating, pleasure seeping out of her and into his mouth, so now is not the time for euphemism.)

It’s that he’s rarely, if ever, done it like that. Driving her to the edge and pulling her back at the last second, teasing her relentlessly and pushing her limits with an intensity and an earnestness lacking any mercy. He’s parted her, opened her like a ripe fruit, and he’s snaking his tongue inside her as deep and fast as he can, as if trying to match her gone-crazy heartbeats.

(This is not going down on her; this is tongue-fucking her. The bluntness of the term burns her cheeks, and fuels her arousal even more.)

She wants to move her hands, to wrap them around his head and press him tighter into her. The silk bonds around her wrists and Michael’s steady grip on her lower half remind her how helpless she is. Unable to move except for writhing in need, whimpers and moans that beg for more. Which she does extensively, to Michael’s satisfaction.

(To Michael’s utmost satisfaction if the low growl against her and the harsh sucking he delivers are any indication.)

She’s starting to shake. The light quiver that has been running through her limbs for a while morphs into something more violent and has her twisting into the messy bed sheets. She holds onto whatever she can hold on to, Michael’s shoulders squeezed hard between her knees, her fingers wrapping around the bars of the headboard, her inner muscles contracting around his tongue.

(She can try to hold on as much as she wants, she’s going to shatter in pieces in a matter of seconds anyway.)

Fucking tongue that he pushes and thrusts inside her with a desperate fervor. She feels his nose nudging her, his teeth gliding over her slick flesh, and she’s so, so close.

(Still a tiny bit not enough, but he knows. He’s still teasing, still playing with her, still—)

He presses his thumb against her clitoris and circles it, and God, yes, now _it is_ enough. Just enough, just perfect, just the additional touch she craved. She comes with a high-pitched sob she will — probably not — be embarrassed about later and with her spine arching off the bed. Body taut and tight, shoulders, back and hips forming an impossible serpentine curve. The way she’s rearing beneath him, she could almost dislodge Michael from his delicate position; it’s a good thing he has a solid grip on her because she sure doesn’t want to push him away now.

(She will have bruises on her hips, but who gives a damn.)

He’s smiling and showering her lower belly with light kisses and small licks of his tongue when she opens her eyes and looks at him. She’s gone lax and limp, her whole body aching pleasantly but she jolts under his ministrations. Encouraged by her response, he kisses her stomach and breasts, her neck, slithering up to cover her body with his own. Just kisses and warmth, not asking for anything.

(She wonders if he knows that he doesn’t need to ask for anything because right now, she’s in a very, very giving mood anyway.)

His hands move to her wrists to untie her.

“No,” she stops him. Her own voice shocks her, rough from pleasure and exhaustion.

He freezes and lifts an inquiring eyebrow at her.

Her knees hitch up his hips and she smiles ruefully, the invitation obvious. Invitation that doesn’t need to be repeated: he’s smirking and easing his way into her in three seconds tops and starts rocking hard and deep.

(Too hard, too deep. And he’s a bit too thick at the moment because her muscles are still rippling and sore from her release.)

Too much, but she loves it. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

END

\--Feedback in any way shape or form always welcome and appreciated :)


End file.
